My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding
by Danigirl32
Summary: AU Fic. A stop for breakfast brings Sam and Dean more than they bargained for.


So, this fic is really different from my normal GH fics, but I like the show and decided to give one a try. This story is a prequel to a fic currently in progress on my site (Something Wicked This Way Comes). I've tried to stay true to Dean and Sam's "voice" as I could.

As for Supernatural canon, well, I manipulate to my hearts content. That's my MO.

Hope you like. Feed back is greatly appreciated.

Summary: A stop for breakfast on the way to Nashville brings the Winchester brothers more than they bargained for.

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just like writing about them

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**My Big Fat _Supernatural_ Wedding**

**_"...Doors do not hold them, locks do not restrain them, through the doors they glide like snakes, through the hinge boxes they blow like wind."_**

_--Thorkild Jacobsen, The Treasures of Darkness: A History of Mesopotamian Religion, p.12 _

**Part I**

It wasn't much of a honeymoon suite, but it was the largest room the manager had available at The Heartbreak Motel. Yeah, it was cheesy, from the name to the Pepto and cherry tinted decor and the heartshaped bed with it's mirror on the ceiling. Even the dimmed lighting couldn't disguise the fact that the room looked like some disgarded porn set.

At the moment Marty Fitzgerald couldn't find a reason to give a damn.

He was twenty-one, hornier than hell and married to the most beautiful woman on the planet.

Excited, he stripped out of the black suit jacket and tossed it on the chair next to the window, uncaring that it landed on the floor instead of it's intended destination. Humming the lyrics to the song that had blasted in his dark green GTO when he parked in front of their room, he eagerly removed his clothes. They had listened to that song day, he called it their theme song. Marty yanked his grey tie free and began working on the buttons of his white dress shirt.

_"I was crying when I met you, now I'm trying to forget you. Your love is sweet misery. I was trying just to get you, now I'm dying cause I let you. Do what you do, down on me."_

It was like destiny the way they met. He was driving along with his buds in the _Pimpmobile_, as they liked to call it. It was Marti Gras time, and they had been on their way down to New Orleans to celebrate the end of a championship football season with a little drinking and debauchery in the _Big Easy_. He stopped for gas at a little dink station right off the highway and there she was. Leaning in the open door way with the sounds of some mechanic working under a hood and Aerosmith announcing her presence like some kind of sex goddess.

Blond hair, big blue eyes, a lush body made for fucking and legs for days.

The guys had been pissed when he dropped them off at the airport but could they really blame him for not tapping this piece of ass when presented with the opportunity?

She kinda surprised him when she whispered in that husky voice that made him harder than hell, that she was a virgin. Stunned him clear down to the bone and he had joked about the yokels not appreciating true beauty when faced with it. That little blush that spread across her cheeks made him wonder if her entire body could blush like that.

Then she turned the tables on him, oh they looked, but they didn't want what she wanted. Marriage. Now call him stupid, but he was young, a few months from graduation and a job at his father's company had been waiting for him from the day he was born. So he agreed. A woman like her actually wanted to marry a jock like him? He wasn't that stupid.

He paused for a moment, looking at his reflection in the mirror, noting the confusion in his dark brown eyes, then shook his head with a wry smile. "Delilah Fitzpatrick," he sampled his wife's name aloud, grinning as he glanced back at the bed and imagined all the fun they were going to have, lighting those sheets on fire.

In a move his buds would have recognized him perform each time he suited up to step out on the playing field, he clapped his hands together in three sharp movements, then rubbed them quickly together. "My wife," he laughed and scrubbed fingers through his choppy brown hair. Held a hand over his mouth and gave three quick breaths.

"Minty fresh," he smirked, assured that he wouldn't offend his beauty then slapped a hand over his bare chest. "This is going to be so good," he closed his eyes, lifting both hands upward in gratitude.

Wearing only a pair of dark blue boxers he crossed over and leapt on top of the bed, making it shake from the impact. Marty licked his lips, then sucked in his gut, released it, sucked it back in and looked over at the clock. "Delilah baby, you okay in there?"

"Yes, sweetie," she answered back softly, "I'll be right out."

Normally he would have hated being called sweetie, you just couldn't fit sweetie on a six foot three, two hundred and ninety pound guy without making him sound like some kind of pussy whipped bitch. But if Delilah wanted to call him that, it was just fine. As long as she came out of the bathroom and climbed into bed so they could proceed to the honeymoon portion of the marriage program.

Just when he was starting to get annoyed, the door creaked open, the light immediatley going off as she stepped out.

"Aww, baby, you look like an angel." And she did, all that long flowing blond hair looked like a halo around her beautiful face. She had on a plain white gown, cotton from the looks of it, but it looked like something out of one of those medieval chick flicks one of his exes made him watch.

"Thank you Marty," she sighed, brushing a hand across her stomach, instantly drawing his attention to her silhouetted form beneath. "I want to be pretty for you."

"Baby, you have surpassed pretty and went straight into hotness," he held out a hand to her, "Don't be afraid, come here and let me see you up close."

"Okay," she glanced down at the floor shyly and began crossing to him, climbing into the bed when he insisted. "I don't want to disappoint you Marty."

"You could never do that," he swallowed thickly, hands itching to pull down that neckline and expose more of her creamy cleavage for his pleasure.

"Are you going to kiss me now?"

Marty nodded, "Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah, I want you to kiss me, I feel all warm and tingly inside."

"I can do better than tingles," he wiggled his brows confidently, and leaned up to press a kiss to her moist lips. The kiss was soft, and sweet and not nearly enough. He slid a thick hand into her hair, groaning at the silk against his skin.

When she opened her mouth to his tongue, it was like paradise had been opened for him.

"Yeah, baby, you're so hot," he whispered against her seeking lips. His hands already brushing aside the material and shoving it away from her body. His pores had opened, slicking his skin with sweat and Delilah was purring like a kitten under caresses of his mouth and hands.

"I want you to straddle me okay," he lay back on the bed, gripping her tiny waist, "I just want to see you."

"Is this what you want," she demurred, unconsiously arching against his raging erection, her slick heat shooting the blood from his head and making it swim. Her breasts bounced every time she jerked her hips, then she shook her hair back and if he had been deep inside her he would have come right then.

"Yeah, baby, just like that," he moaned. "Now this might hurt just for a second," he knew this was a shitty way break in a virgin but his greedy desire had eclisped that little whisper of consideration he had wanted to give her. He gripped his dick by the base and was shocked when she lifted enough and took him in.

If he had thought about it for a second he would have realized he hadn't pushed passed a barrier of any kind. No virgin was his sweet Delilah. He was just too caught up in the moment to give a damn. Sweet gripping heat. And then she began to ride him.

"Damn that feels good," he closed his eyes just missing the flicker of red in hers. Nor did he notice the nails that gripped his pecs extended slowly, into his skin, pricking deep and drawing trails of blood down onto his chest.

His loud moans of pleasure combined with hers to fill the room.

No one noticed when those moans turned into screams.

_Succubus  
_

_Flat River, Tennessee_

Whoever said that life on the road was an adventure had never been stuck in a Chevy Impala with a stereo blasting AC/DC for more than tweleve hours and a brother who barely spoke more than three words at a time.

Their adventure had officially ended three months ago. Winchester Brothers 1 Demon 0. Ass kicked and tossed back into hell where it belonged. They should still be celebrating. The psychics like him who could be rescued were back home and probably settled into their normal lives. Deaths were avenged. The End.

Except nothing ever came without a price and damned if they hadn't paid a heavy one for their vengence. Dad. Ellen. Jo. Sam risked a sidelong glance at his brother who stared silently out the window concentrating on the road like it was the most important thing in the universe. As if Dean couldn't drive with his eyes shut and half way unconscious.

He'd almost lost his brother. That red welting scar wrapping the width of his neck, the arm resting in his lap encased in an ace bandage still and the stiff way Dean held himself upright in his seat proved that. No matter how stoic, broken ribs and a knife to the side didn't heal easily. But that's what Dean did. If it tried to reach too deep inside behind that exterior, he shored up the wall with sarcasm, a hunt or sex. It didn't matter which order, though he caught the edge of Dean's wit more often than not.

Hard to get too upset with a man who was willing to die so that you could live.

In the end, they were all they had left and though some small piece of that knowledge saddened him, Sam knew they would always have each other and it was more reassuring.

For a month afterwards, they did nothing. Too busy healing and hiding out from the Feds that were after them. Hiding out in Texas near the border had been ideal. The Hunter sanctuary deep in the middle of nothing provided all they needed. A room to crash, food, sex and alcohol to wash away the nightmares when they got too bad.

Then he had that damned vision. Almost six weeks of quiet and then his head had filled with some demon making snackies on the nightmares of little kids in a sleepy town just south of Seattle. He kept it to himself for almost four days before Dean cornered him and made him spit out what the hell was bothering him.

He took a long look at the bandages wrapped around Dean's torso, the one on his neck, the many brusies and cuts healing on his face and had desperately wanted to say nothing. Only he couldn't miss that gleam in Dean's eye. That would never change, no matter how dead that Demon was, Dean was and always would be a hunter.

So he told him everything and they packed up the Impala and were on the road by nightfall. Back into the life that could probably get them killed, or arrested and sent to prison and the order of that sure as hell didn't matter.

"You could head up to Canada," Dean had muttered in the car after they had put the Krueger wannabe down. Ears still ringing from the piercing shrieks of the little girl they saved, heart still pumping, his brother steered the car down the dark highway for once leaving them in silence.

"What?" Sam resisted the urge to squirm in his seat because his damned back was killing him. The dreameater had flicked him against the wall like he was an nothing more than an annoying insect. "What are you talking about?"

"You had a life before all this," Dean released a small telling breath. He hadn't come out of this last fight unscathed either. "You were in college, had a girl. You could go back to something like that." He lifted a shoulder, then gave him a quick look. "We're pretty much screwed here, but you could get into Canada, make a new life for yourself, leave all this behind."

"And what about you."

"This is my life Sammy. Can you see me trapped down in some nine to five gig? That is if the cops don't catch up to me and try me for murder. I am what Dad made me, a Hunter. I kill the things that have no business screwing around with people and I'll do it until something finally gets the best of me."

Sam stared at his brother, hearing the resolute tone in his voice, that calmness in his eyes and saw that Dean Winchester had accepted his life for what it was. "And so, I should just leave you to your fate and take off to find some happily ever after life of my own?"

"I'm just saying."

"Shut up," he spat at his brother. "Just shut up. If you haven't figured out by now that this is my life just as much as it's yours then you can just," he paused, looking for something to say.

"Kiss your ass?"

"Dean-"

"Go fuck yourself?"

"Dean!"

"We gotta get you to loosen up a bit Sammy," the corner of Dean's mouth lifted in a bit of a smirk, "Maybe get you laid. How long has it been since you even smelled pussy?"

"Every time you open your mouth."

The burst of laughter that followed, ripped free from Dean's throat and belly, undiluted, warm and rich was the best thing he'd heard in a very long time. Dean leaned back on the headrest, resting his arm over his stomach as the sound of his amusement mixed with an occasional moan of discomfort.

"Well," Dean sniffed after awhile, "Since I'm stuck with you, we should probably find a motel for the night, figure out what we're going to do next."

And that was the end of that.

Dean still occasionally had his moods, like now for instance, but that was just part of who his brother was. He took his role in life seriously no matter how sarcastic he could be about it. The number one rule their father had drilled into him never changed. Protect Sam at all costs. And despite the fact that he had some kickass psychic abilities Dean always jumped in front of him whenever they faced danger.

Tired of the silence, he glanced over at the dashboard, "You know it's almost six, if we stop for gas in the next town we can get some breakfast before we get back on the road."

That got him a grunt at least. They had just come through Kansas, finishing off a demon in a small farm town. It never ceased to amaze him how often those Children of the Corn stories were true. You get a bunch of bored ass people together who don't know a pentagram from a salt circle and the next thing you know some low level demon raises its head with delusions of granduer ready to take over the world. He still smelled like roasted popcorn and skin despite the long shower. Disgusting combo.

Dean glanced out the window again and something flickered in his eyes, "We're almost to Nashville. If we push it, we won't have to stop."

"What's in Nashville?"

That earned him an affronted look, as if he had just pissed on the floor of Dean's beloved car. "Are you kidding me? Graceland?"

"Dean come on," he groaned, "Have you forgotten that our face is right up there on every police board in at least thirteen states? We'd be idiots to go take some dumb tour."

"Just a little trip to Graceland, Sammy. How can we pass through Nashville and not visit the King? Two hours, man. We'll get some ribs, maybe one of those fugly ass velvet portraits before he went through that whole white jumpsuit phase, take a walk through the jungle room and be on the road by dark."

Maybe it was the much too rare gleam of real humor in Dean's face that made him relent but Sam found himself rolling his eyes and caving. "Fine. Two hours, that's it. We're still stopping for breakfast, though. I'm not riding for four more hours listening to my stomach grind." And figuring his brother owed him one, Sam pushed the eject button on the tape deck and tossed the offending music into the glove compartment.

"Hey!"

Ignoring his brother's protest, he switched on the radio and the twang of a woman's voice singing filled the car. "You've got to be shitting me. I am not listening to some whiny country song about," Dean paused, his eyes filling with horror, "The Dixie Chicks! You think I'm listneing to the Dixie Chicks!"

Feeling smug, Sam blinked several times tilting his head a bit before asking, "And just how do you know this is the Dixie Chicks?"

xxxxxxx

The little diner wasn't much, a Mom and Pop style place straight out of the fifties complete with counter that stretched the span of the building a few smaller tables in the center and booths lining the wall. What ever the case the place wasn't too busy, but Dean couldn't tell if that was due to early hour or what.

Hell the town wasn't much. A few buildings that looked like they had seen better days, especially that gas station where he had filled his tank. A grocery store, a church toward the edge of the town whose bells had rung loud and just a bit spooky through the silence.

What rubbed him wrong were the people. They looked liked they were hiding something. He knew small towns had their secrets, like the preacher was sleeping with the town hooker, or Uncle Buck ran over his brother Pete with the tractor when he caught the man in bed screwing his wife then used him for fertilizer. Small towns had some of the deepest nastiest secrets and the faces on these people proved it.

Someone had come up with the idea of captializing on their proximity to Nashville and named the one motel in town The Heartbreak Motel, then Dean snorted, probably not. That might require original thinking.

So when he opened the door to Flat River Grill, Dean wasn't surprised at the number of heads that turned in their direction. Naturally affable, Sam, nodded in the direction of one of the waitresses and that earned him a small smile in return. He on the other hand was a suspicous bastard and scanned the room for a empty booth close to the exit.

Before everything, he cut that thought off, preferring not to dwell on that shit during daylight hours. It haunted him enough when the sun went down. Through his nightmares. Yet he couldn't help noticing that he would have flirted with the little waitress himself that finally approached their table to take their order.

Only he didn't think his reluctance had to do with his normal brooding. No, it was just something about this town that had all his instincts screaming at high alert.

"Hello, I'm Anne, can I take your order. Hey, you two are new here," the words were supposed to sound perky, as was that tilt of hip, the flutter of eyelashes. She passed them small rectangular menus. "I haven't seen you around." Only there was just something underneath, something empty in her eyes that had him staring for a moment.

"Is something wrong?"

"No," Sam hurriedly answered, always the boy scout. "Not at all, so um, what's good today?"

"We're still serving up breakfast," she answered giving him a wary glance before turning back to his brother, "But I'm sure Johnny can make up a sandwich or something just as easily if that's what you want. Do you need a minute to decide?"

"No, no. Breakfast is fine," Sam glanced down at his menu, "I'll have the short stack with bacon and the homefries."

"You want some coffee with that?"

"Yeah, and a glass of orange juice if you've got it."

"We have it," she scribbled it down, then looked back at him and Dean had the feeling she would have preferred not to take his order at all. Her eyes kept glancing down to the scar on his throat then nervously back to his face. "And what can I get you?"

"Same thing as my brother there, but add on a couple of eggs scrambled hard," he took a deep breath, ignoring the concerned look on his brother's face. Yeah, his appetite had increased lately. Losing twenty pounds the hard way could do that to a man. He had put most of the weight back on, hunting keeping it muscle and not fat but he still wasn't back to his normal frame.

He wouldn't feel right until then.

"I'll be right back with your order," she offered Sam a smile, ignored him and almost ran back behind the safety of the counter.

Dean scanned the resturant, catching the fleeting eye of a few patrons a second before it skipped nervously away. Small towns weren't always friendly and welcoming to strangers, especially ones with secrets and this one had all the makings of Creepyville. Shit, he should have taken the next exit.

"Stop glaring."

Dean looked across the rectangular table, "What?"

"Stop glaring at people. You look like you're going to shoot someone."

"Yeah, well," he leaned back in the chair, taking the weight off his torso. His ribs had healed but that gut wound still pulled if he moved the wrong way. It had been deep and nasty. Hell, it had almost killed him, all the blood that had spilled from his body but he had finished the job. Protected Sammy. Most days he barely noticed it but bouncing around a corn field hadn't helped any.

"You'd think we were here to run off with all of their women the way they keep staring at us."

"I wouldn't put that pass you," Sam muttered as he leaned back in his own seat.

"Just because that waitress didn't tell me she was married, it isn't my fault," he felt obligated to point out, for probably the thousandth time. Every time they stepped foot in a small town, Sam felt obligated to remind him of that mess.

"No, but it is your fault for shooting that guy in the foot," he pointed out.

"Did you see what he did to my car?" Hell that damage took almost a week to fix. Bastards angry about their cheating wives and tire irons were never a good combo. "Besides, I didn't shoot him in the foot. That bullet was miles away from his foot."

"It hit the ground right beside him."

"Then you know I wasn't aiming for it," he answered. They both knew that if he had been trying to shoot that guy's foot off, he wouldn't have missed.

"Just let me eat before you start the riot this time."

"I'm not the one Anne there was giving the eye." Dean smirked, enjoying the look of discomfort that flashed in his little brother's eyes, "That's all you Sammy."

Before he could protest, the door from the kitchen slammed open and a petite woman stalked out, face bright with fury. "I don't give a damn what you people think! I know what I saw, and what I heard and you're crazy if you expect me to hide your dirty secrets for you!"

Bingo.

An old man followed her out, dressed in a dark suit that screamed Preacher and the small Bible tucked under his arm confirmed the thought. Or was it that pious sneer on his weathered face? With him was an woman who looked like she was just tumbling over the edge of fifty and rolling quickly toward sixty. Brown hair shot through with streaks of grey was scrapped brutally back from a harsh face. Mouth so tight, looked like she sucked lemons for breakfast this morning. And that ugly ass suit? She didn't look like anyone's Grandma that much was certain.

The firebrand stalked down the aisle, snatching off the white apron around her waist and throwing it on the floor in her wake. Low riding jeans moved with her slender hips, and that bright blue henley cupped breasts that were just the right handful. Dean took a moment and drank her in. Now this was more his speed. Short dark brown hair, nice wiry body that looked ready for anything, and eyes that burned with passion. Well rage, but he wasn't complaining. Rage was better than that vacant expression in old Anne's eyes.

"Miranda, you must see reason," the Preacher man spoke softly but every eye in the diner was focused on them and no one uttered a sound.

"No I don't. I'm taking Gabriel and we're getting the hell out of here and nothing you do is going to change my mind."

"He's our grandson, Miranda," the woman pointed out. Grandson, this bat had kids? Hell, that bat had _sex_? A brief image of her doinig her wifely duty tried to flash through his head, but he quickly shook it off. The hell he wanted to ruin his appetite. Forever.

Miranda turned on them with such intensity, they stopped and jerked back as if she were going to strike them. "It wasn't enough that Darnell cheated on me," and though she sounded furious, Dean could hear the hurt beneath it. "But he did it in my bed, in my house! With that _woman_."

"Miranda," the Preacher reprimanded her sharply, his face brutal and cold. "That's enough."

"Gabriel almost saw," she went on heedless of the warning. "Gabriel almost saw and you think I'm going to let my son grow up here, so what, she can move on from father to son. You can just go to hell." She turned to storm away, then flicked a disgusted glance back over her shoulder, "But then, you've already sold your soul to one bitch, so I'm sure the devil wouldn't have you."

The bells over the door jangled wildly under the force of her slam and all eyes cut back to their tables as if trying to ignore the fact they had all been watching unabashedly. Dean watched the couple straighten their tattered dignity around them and leave.

"I hate small towns." When he glanced back at Sam, his brother had a fist to his forehead, his face a grimace of pain. Which could only mean one thing. "Oh, shit."

xxxxxxx

The little room at the Heartbreak Motel was as unremarkable as too many of the other rooms they'd stayed in. Two full sized beds, plain dark brown blankets and curtains, a little ricketedy TV that sat on a stand that looked like the breeze when you walked pass would send it crashing to the floor. At least the bathroom was clean.

Dean closed the door, tossing his bag on the bed nearest the door and glared at his brother who sat on the edge of the other. He put up a brave front, even managed to choke down some food but Dean knew Sam was anxious. "So, what is it this time?"

Damned shining. Sure the premonitions allowed them to hunt the demons and help people, but all that psychic shit still made him nervous. Give him a gun, or an axe and he was good to go. Although it hadn't been a weapon that had finally put down the demon that killed their parents. No that had been all Sammy.

"Hell," Sam grunted, mumbling nonsense, "It just poured off her, wrapped around her," he broke off with a heavy groan of disgust. Covering his mouth with the back of his hand, probably trying to keep down the breakfast he had wanted. Dean grabbed the black duffel bag sitting on the floor next to Sam, found a bottle of water and passed it on. He waited until Sam drank several swallows trying to catch his breath.

"Thought you said you had a handle on these things?" Damned shining.

"It was her anger that trigered it and her fear," Sam finally looked up, control firmly regained. "All that blood, damn man, all that blood."

"So what is it?"

"I don't know," he shrugged with frustration, "I do know that whatever it is, is coming for her and it's pissed off."

"I knew I should have taken the next exit. Damned small towns, what is it about these people who keep embracing demons? Don't they have anything better to do, like cow tipping or something?"

Sam managed a small chuckle at his brother's anger, knew it was just his way. "So where do you want to start?"

"With little Miranda. You said she was in the vision, that the demon was after her specifically."

"No," he shook his head, that didn't quite sound right. "I said it was angry at her and was going to kill her, but it wasn't _after_ her."

"And the difference being?"

Sam focused for a second, listening to that inner voice that whispered in his ear, "I think she was right, that it was going to go after her son, Gabriel. The demon's going to kill her to get her out of the way."

Dean nodded, "So I'll go scope out Miranda, you get on the computer and see what you can dig up about old Flat River, Tennessee and I'll meet you back here in an hour."

"No offense," he smiled at his brother, "But the way these people were looking at you, you could cameflouge yourself in a pile of hay. I'll go find Miranda and see if I can get her to talk. You do the research."

"But you're better at that kind of crap." Sam hid a grin, if Dean knew how dangerously close to whining that sounded.

"Then you'll have to get better. Besides, she doesn't need you flirting with her."

"I wasn't planning to flirt," Dean muttered.

"You weren't planning _not_ to either. I don't know, there's something about this that's wrong somehow," Sam stood carefully and when his stomach didn't revolt, zipped up his jacket to leave, "I haven't figured out what it is yet but I know I don't like it."

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

**_"They are gloomy, their shadow dark, no light is in their bodies, ever they slink along covertly, walk not upright, from their claws drips bitter gall, their footprints are (full of) evil venom..."_**

_--Thorkild Jacobsen, The Treasures of Darkness: A History of Mesopotamian Religion, p.12_

**Part II**

There was one thing he had learned in all of his years. Those spent with his father before their rift, afterwards when he ran off to Stanford pretending that the shadows in the world didn't exist. Pretending to be normal. These months spent with Dean hunting demons and finding the path his life was meant to take. Accepting that sometimes there really were monsters under the bed and you had to beat them off with a really big axe. Through all this one thing was such a simple and intrinsic part of human nature.

People liked to talk.

Good or bad, malicious or kind, people liked to talk to other people. About other people. Especially about other people. So it was only a matter of finding the right spot and the right people to talk to and information could be sifted through like mining for gold. You had to get through the grit and crap to reach the shiny stuff.

Now Dean hated small towns and he wasn't without some creedence in that dislike, sometimes the ugliest things hid under the cover of small town life. Sam knew that truth swam beneath the layers that made up Flat River, Tennessee but human nature was one constant that could always be relied on. In fact, he was counting on the old rumor mill to answer a few questions for him.

Even under the light of the morning sun, he could see there was something wrong with this place. He tried to figure out what was really bugging him. It nagged along the base of his skull and down the length of his spine like the darkest chill but there was no source other than the instincts he had learned to trust.

Everything in Flat River seemed normal. Sam took his time getting the lay of the town, walked for almost ninety minutes. The old men sitting in front of the local tavern, chewing the shit, as he'd heard more than once. Only the shadows from the buildings seemed just a bit too long. Deeper. Traffic wasn't bad, wasn't slow either. People walked to and from about their business as usual.

No one met his eyes, but maybe that was due to the fact that he was a stranger. One woman, looked to be in her early twenties made the mistake of meeting his gaze straight on and reacted as if she had been jolted with electricity. Stock still, eyes wide, mouth gaping, until she scurried away like a mouse into the building behind her.

Other than that weird incident, it all seemed normal.

"Where are the kids?" He finally spoke aloud. Glancing down at his watch, true it was just eleven thirty in the morning and it was a Friday, so kids would usually be in school this time of day. A quick right turn after the unobtrusive and virtually empty library unexpectedly revealing a small old fashioned school house.

But what about the babies? Toddlers. Where were the mothers pushing strollers along, or dragging a screaming tantrum throwing three year old from the grocery store?

It wasn't just that the town seemed too normal, the absence of youth, the empty look in it's inhabitant eyes made him feel like Flat River, Tennessee was slowly dying. Like it was being slowly drained of life and energy all punctuated by the absence of children.

The rolling knull of the church tower's bell announcing the hour made him flinch unconsciously, and begin walking again before someone started to wonder why the stranger in town was gawking in the middle of the sidewalk.

In small towns when you wanted answers there were a few simple places you could get them. If it had been night, he would have walked into Lenny's Roadhouse, which was situated across the block from the local authorites. Convienent for those rowdy weekend nights he would have said, only there was the feeling that Flat River didn't have many of those too often.

He would have went to the bar and eventually struck up a conversation with one of the waitresses. Maybe taken a few games of pool if the bar had a table, darts would do just as easily. Only it was almost noon and that left him with one place.

Walker's Shop and Save.

It wasn't chauvinstic to know that women were more likely to talk about the incident that had occured in the Flat River Grill. Men needed a few drinks in them before they started gossiping. Only not calling it gossiping. He didn't have the time to wait for that one. The woman, Miranda, looked angry enough to cut and run this afternoon. If they had any chance of protecting her, he needed answers now.

Loping across the street to the store, he held the door open for an elderly grey haired woman going in. Small and almost hunched over from what looked like the early stages of osteoporosis, she tucked her navy wool coat tighter around her and mumbled a thank you. Immediately noticing how she refused to meet his eyes.

A quick trip around the store, and it was practically empty. He had grabbed one of those hand baskets from the front, stuffed in a six pack of beer, some tortilla and salsa, couple of bars of soap, toothpaste, some bottled water and a new bottle of aspirin. His hand was on a pack of multi sized bandages and about to curse a blue streak under his breath when finally he heard something.

Same woman from the door, he noted from the corner of his eye and she was talking to, well wouldn't you know, the wife from the diner. They were huddled together, making him wonder if this was some secret meeting. "Eleanor, you and John Henry are not really going to allow her to take Gabriel are you?" The near whisper held more than a touch of fear. "He is the last Sullivan of Flat River. She can't be allowed-"

"Don't you think I know that Constance?" The bitter retort, had his brows lifting. "I told Darnell about marrying outsiders but that boy was determined," the words broke off with a sniff.

"I'm sorry Eleanor," one knarled hand patted another age spotted one with sympathy, "I know you're grieving something awful."

"He was my boy, my youngest. My last. Sometimes, I just wish," before she could finish her thought Constance cut her off with a sharp shush. The woman glanced around, and Sam just managed to duck behind a large display of Vaseline on special for $1.59. The irony of that didn't miss him because something had been assbanging this town for a while now.

"You know the walls have ears," Constance warned and Eleanor stiffened, taking the Kleenex she used to wipe her nose and dried away her tears. "Let's get you back home before John Henry starts to worry. I'm sure he won't let Miranda leave. He probably sent some of the boys over there just to be certain."

Well fuck.

xxxxxxxx

If Sam wouldn't nag him to death for it, Dean would have tossed the damned laptop across the room about ten minutes ago. Instead he took another deep breath, cursed the slow ass dial-up he was forced to endure and said a silent prayer of thanks that Flat River's newspaper wasn't as archaic as it's motel was.

"For all it's worth," he muttered and drank from the can of Mountain Dew he bought from the machine outside by the ice maker. Hopefully the caffiene and sugar buzz would prevent him from falling asleep during this boring shit. "I don't see how Sam does this."

If he had to read through one more mind numbing account of which cow sold for what price at market he was going to go out, find Preacher man and beat a confession out of him and screw discretion.

Aside from the rather large number of deaths that had occured this month nothing really stood out like a smoking gun. Stroke victim. House fire. Four car accidents. There were three tractor incidents and one particularly interesting instance with a wood chipper. "Looks like Buck fucked Pete up," he grinned.

Someone finally took mercy on him when he hit the last of the obits for this month and found Darnell Sullivan, aged 31, recently deceased of a heart attack. There was even a picture of old Darnell, the adulturer.

Young, bull-neck, barrel chested farm boy. Dirty blond hair combed and slicked ruthlessly back, which made him wonder if his Mama had done it for him. He chuckled silently at the thought, wondered what on earth a woman like the brunette spitfire from the diner this morning had seen in Darnell Sullivan long enough to marry the guy and have a kid with him.

Guy ran a feed store, Dean cringed with a hint of pity not exactly sure if it was for Miranda or Darnell. What guy 31 years old keels over from a heart attack? "Survived by wife Miranda Leigh Sullivan, formerly of Whispering Springs, Maine, aged 28 and son Gabriel Michael Sullivan, aged 5." She had certainly covered her bases with that kid. Couldn't go wrong named after two Archangels.

The cell phone sitting next to his hand rang, and he snatched it up, "Yeah?"

"You need to get over here, like right now."

Dean jerked up from his chair, slamming down the laptop already pulling on his leather jacket and grabbing the Walther 9mm from the bedside table and tucking it in his back. The silver Bowie knife slid easily into the sheath on his ankle. "Where are you?"

"4532 Crescent Lane. I'm at Miranda Sullivan's house. It's near that Church with the bell that keeps ringing. Bring the car man, we've got a potential situation here."

"Sammy you wait until I get there, you hear," he drawled low and nasty, fury building to a slow burn in his belly.

"Two guys just walked into the house and from the conversation I just overheard, this isn't a social call so you better hurry up."

"What can I do for you Earl, Andrew?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Miranda Sullivan didn't think of herself as a stupid woman. Many people underestimated her. She was short, hitting just under average at 5'3", slender, barely 109 pounds soaking wet. She kept her hair cut short and neat mostly for convienence, knowing it made her look younger than her twenty eight years.

Her husband of ten years had made that mistake, but only once.

So having the Brody brothers show up on her doorstep after making a public spectacle of herself in the midst of the Grill came as no suprise. Two Deacons at the Sullivan church, these men were her late husband's best friends. Her in-laws, trusted parishoners. And all around bullies in really crappy fitting suits.

The second her doorbell rang, she sent Gabriel up to his room to play not wanting these two within easy reaching distance. She wouldn't put it past either of them to shove her to the side and drag her child from the house and over to the Sullivans and claim it was for his own protection. It wasn't like anyone would disagree or fight for her.

She had been in the middle of packing some things for them to leave town before nightfall. The last thing she wanted was to be here in Flat River when the sun went down. She knew too much and now that Darnell was dead, she was a liablilty. Sitting around wasting time with the idiot Brody brothers, in a living room that had long since made her skin crawl was cutting into her plans.

"Well," Earl spoke up, the eldest of the two. That comb over did nothing to conceal the rapidly receding hairline and made an already aged face look even more haggard. "I think you know exactly why we're here. You've been spouting some nonesense about leaving town with little Gabriel and well Reverend Sullivan thought you might do to talk to some of Darnell's friends."

"We're family here," Andrew sat forward in his chair his pants skimming tight up his legs, purposely cracking the knuckles of his ham fisted hands. "And family looks out for each other. Especially little Gabriel. He's like my very own nephew, Miranda."

"I don't see you ready to saddle little Eddie up for the show, do I Andrew." Both men at least had the grace to look ashamed. She might not have been able to do anything about the happenings of this town, but that didn't mean she was blind to what was going on. Not anymore. "Real easy to follow John Henry's orders when it's not really your blood. At least not this time anyway." She pinned them with a hard glare, "How is Anne doing these days now that Frank is gone?"

Anne had taken the postion at the Grill with her at the beginning of the month now that Frank was dead. Stroke her ass. How could these two sit here and condone what had been done to their own brother?

"Look," Earl stood, probably trying to be menacing, "Why don't you just let us take Gabriel back to the house and you can just take off. You never did belong here anyway, Darnell was wrong to bring you here."

Miranda jerked to her feet as well, stepping right in his face, seething with rage. "Do you honestly expect me to just hand over my child to you murdering bastards and leave? Have you finally lost the remaining dregs of your sanity?"

Andrew rose slowly, coming up behind her, boxing her in between their two hulking bodies. "Don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

"Or what, you'll kill me? You'll kill me while Gabriel is upstairs and drag him away from his mother's dead body?"

"Gabriel has a destiny to fulfill."

"Fuck you, fuck this ridiculous destiny and fuck Delilah!" By the time the last of the words left her mouth, she was beyond furious. The fist that struck out was fast, much faster than Darnell's could ever have been catching her in the jaw with such force that white lights danced before her eyes. She would have fallen back but Andrew grabbed her arms in a punishing grip.

"You should have just listened," Andrew said softly and she might have acknowledged the regret in his voice if he wasn't holding her down and ready to let his brother beat her to death.

The second fist hit her so hard, something snapped painfully in her head. Reacting purely on instinct, she braced against Andrew's stiffened form, striking out with both feet catching Earl in the groin. Her vision cleared enough at his howl of agony to see him drop to his knees clutching his balls as if that would somehow relieve the blistering pain.

Before Andrew could react, she kicked out again, the heel of her sneakered foot connecting perfectly with Earl's nose and sending him backward to the floor. His head slammed against the hardwood floor with a nauseating crack. "Let me go!" she screamed, "Damn it, let me go!" Struggling against his grip was damned near useless but she was hoping that he wouldn't take up where his brother had left off.

Right now her head was spinning, blood was dripping from her nose and quite frankly she was going to pass out soon.

"The lady said let her go."

The husky voice sounded from behind her just as the door swung open and into the wall, halting her struggles for the moment. Judging from those guns aimed in their direction, she had just leapt out of the frying pan and into the fire. Two men stepped under the threshold, the first not as tall as the other, but his hard eyes were deadlier. Black spots were bluring her vision, but she could hear the quick patter of footsteps on the stairs clearly.

"Mama," came the tentative voice, and the tall one in back, quickly put away the gun in his hand turning toward the stairs.

"Gabe, run back upstairs, right now!"

But it was too late, for seconds later, that tow head peaked around the banister, dark eyes wide with fear. Dressed in the same dark jeans and sweater intended for warmth and comfort on the road, Gabriel had put on his sneakers just like she told him, but the strings were loose. The endearing sight made her heart clench because in this moment she would have done anything to keep him safe and never had she felt so damned useless.

"Mama, what's wrong, why were you screaming?"

"Gabe you listen to Mama and go back upstairs right now!"

"Hey Gabriel," Andrew spoke genially from behind her, but didn't loosen the death grip on her arms. "It's your Uncle Andrew, won't you come here for a second."

"NO!" the screamed reply came from her and the tall man who held up both of his hands in entreaty.

"Uncle Andrew," Gabriel gave a tentative smile. Of course he would trust them, these were his father's friends. He paused, looking down at Earl on the floor, then his eyes widened as he saw her face for the first time and the fact that she was straining against Andrew. "What happened to your face Mama?"

"Baby, go back upstairs."

"Better yet," the man still holding his gun, spoke again, the quiet cock proving that he meant business. "Why doesn't Uncle Andrew there pick up his friend and take a walk, so Mama can get something for her nose. Isn't that right Uncle Andrew," his voice was hard and uncompromising, "Wouldn't want the kid to see his mother hurt, would you?"

Andrew seemed to weigh his odds for the longest moment, then the hold on her arms released as he stepped away. Before he had the opportunity to change his mind, she ran over to Gabriel, watching as Andrew pulled a barely conscious Earl to his feet and together they shuffled toward the door.

The man kept that gun trained on both men, until the door closed behind them and finally he lowered it to his side. "Check to see if they're gone," he told the other one who went to the window, pushing aside the curtain to look out. When the rumble of a car engine started then eventually faded away he let the curtain fall back in place and nodded.

"Are you okay ma'am?" The tall one's voice was kinder and the anger in his eyes was muted with concern. He had a nice face, sandy brown hair, wore a short leather jacket unzipped to reveal a flannel shirt and dark henley beneath. Lanky, she would have called his build but she had no doubt he could handle himself.

Yet it was the other who strangely enough held her complete attention. Short cropped hair, handsome face, full sensual mouth. An open leather coat, jeans and a black shirt displayed a nice body. Wide shoulders, loose hipped stance and that arrogance was unmistakeable. Her eyes caught the red healing scar around his neck, went back to his eyes and noted how haunted they seemed. Whatever had happened to him, it still rode him but from the glint in those eyes, he didn't allow it to chain him.

"I'm fine," she answered quickly, tightening her grip around Gabriel and ignoring the heated sensation that lit in her stomach. "Not that I'm not grateful, but what are you doing bursting into my home?"

"Guess you wouldn't buy pizza delievery man," came a sarcastic reply as he slipped his weapon beneath the leather coat he wore. A small grin touched her mouth briefly before she pushed it away. "Name's Dean Winchester, this is my brother Sam."

"And that didn't answer my question." Slender arms tightened around her waist, reminding her that her son was present and probably confused and terrified. Seeing as these two could have killed her by now if that had been their intent she said, "I'm Miranda Sullivan. This is my son Gabriel."

"Look Miranda," the tall one, Sam he had been called, said gently, "I know this is going to sound," he paused and looked around and finally settled on, "Strange, but my brother and I mean you no harm. We're here to help you."

"Really," she lifted a shoulder in disbelief, "And why would you want to help me?"

"Because we have reason to believe that you and your son are in danger."

xxxxxx

"Well, you think?"

Her rusty chuckle reached down and tugged hard at something that lay dormant in his chest for a long time now. Damn, a few feet away she was something else. Even with that bruise flaming red on her face and blood trailing from her nose. It wasn't just arousal, hell that was easy, a pretty face, a hot body and bam he was ready to ride and that's where she was a step apart. This wasn't just sexual attraction he was feeling.

This was pull and that was off limits in his life.

"I think we should maybe let you clean up a bit," Sam nodded, in that consoling voice of his. Dean could see her already responding to it, trusting, calming down and that was exactly what the situation needed. Only those dark eyes kept flicking back to his, holding for several seconds longer than wise.

"I'd prefer to get out of here like I planned," she shook her head in disagreement. "Look, you two probably mean well, but you have no idea what's going on in Flat River and I'm not about to stick around long enough to help you figure it out."

Well, that wasn't a good idea and judging from the look on Sam's face he was thinking the exact same thing. If some kind of demon was after her, the last thing Miranda needed to do was run off in the night with her son with nothing for protection but her courage.

"Maybe you could come back to the motel with us first," Sam purposely glanced down at his watch, "We could talk there and if you're still determined to leave, then you'll be close to the highway."

"No," she insisted, "I'm out of here before sundown."

"So whatever is after you can catch you on the road instead," Dean interrupted coldly. He wouldn't say much in front of the kid, but she needed to understand the importance of the situation and not concentrate solely on the fear.

"Dean," Sam cautioned but he just ran right over that.

"We don't have time for this Sam and she needs to get it, right now."

"I get a lot more than you could possibly understand," she spat back, body tensed and ready to argue.

"Mama, are we going somewhere?"

The tenatively asked question seemed to pull her back and she pulled the boy in front of her, brushed a loving hand down his cheek. He was a cute kid, minature version of the woman before him, except for that hair, probably got that from his father. "Yeah, sweetie, we're going on a trip tonight." She kneeled down and adjusted the front of his dark green sweater. "Look, why don't you run upstairs for Mama and this is what I want you to do. You know when we pack a bag when we go to visit Grandma and Grandpa?"

He nodded eagerly and she gave him a shaky smile in return, "I need you to pack your things up okay, just like always. A few toys, your favorite Hot Wheels Cars book and Charlie your teddy bear."

"Can I bring my crayons and coloring book too?"

"Sure you can," she agreed, "Make sure you get your Gameboy, those games and the adapter."

"But Grandpa doesn't like it when I play with my Gameboy."

"Well, we're not going to Grandpa's tonight. Just you and me, alright? Now go on and scoot. I'm going to make us a lunch and then we're going to leave okay?"

"Okay," he turned and rushed up the stairs at her nudging. Miranda rose and turned to leave without another word.

"Look," Sam tried but she had already disappeared down the hall. They gave each other a long look then started after her. Found her in a bright yellow kitchen standing in front of the refridgerator. "Mrs. Sullivan," Sam tried again, "We really need to talk to you."

"Then you'll have to talk while I'm doing this," she started piling food on the counter, cheese and ham, condiments, "Otherwise, you need to get out of my way."

"So that demon can come and kill you and your boy while you're driving tonight?"

He hadn't meant to put it so bluntly, but he had figured by the fear in her eyes, that she probably knew something about what was going on in this town. She couldn't have lived here, raised a child here and not noticed something was wrong with Flat River.

Miranda had stopped mid-slam of a large bottle of apple juice on the counter. That broken look on her face made his stomach clench fierce, but at least they were getting somewhere now.

"I don't," she stopped, shook her head again, "If you have any idea, I'd suggest you climb right back into the car you arrived in and get the hell out of dodge while you still have the chance. You're Delilah's type, right down to that cocky ass attitude."

"Who's Delilah?" Sam asked quickly, dragging her eyes back to him.

"You acted as if," she paused, frowning at them, "Okay, cards on the table now, who the hell are you two?"

"It's just like he said, I'm Sam Winchester and that's my brother Dean?"

"And what are you two doing in Flat River? Are you cops or something?"

Dean couldn't resist the snort of laughter, "Lady if you had any idea."

"Look," Sam cut him off with a pointed stare, "I know this is going to sound insane, but I'm guessing not too insane judging from the way you're trying to get out of here."

"And why would you think that?"

"Because fear of some old Preacher and his wife wouldn't put that kind of terror in your face," Dean answered back.

"John Henry Sullivan is no Preacher," she snarled, finally slamming the bottle in her hand down. "He is no man of God after the things he has done and that is no church." She took a deep breath and released it forcefully, "But you're right, they aren't what I'm running from."

"Dean and I, we," Sam trailed off with a look of discomfort.

"We hunt demons," he filled in quickly, "Sammy here had a vision that some demon was going to kill you tonight and take your boy."

"Dean!"

"What?" He grimaced with annoyance, "This is getting us no where!"

"You could show a little more tact."

"Tact will get her killed," he shot back, "We don't have time to spare her feelings."

"You're right."

"What?" They both asked in unison, turning back to her face. Unless he was mistaken that was relief gleaming in her eyes.

"I said you're right." A shaky breath exploded from her lungs and she looked like she had released the last of her strenght along with it. Before her legs could fold under her, he went to her, pulled her into his arms. It hit him just like he knew it would. They looked at each other for a moment in silence, he watched those dark eyes deepen. There it was again. That pull.

Sam cleared his throat noisily and he licked his lips. "Yeah, let's get you a seat. Sam, get a towel so we can clean her up." He helped her over to the table into a chair and pulled the other in front of her. Sam pushed a wet dishcloth into his hands and he began cleaning the blood from her nose and mouth.

"Ouch," she flinched when he pressed a bit too hard, but her voice was husky with awareness.

"Sorry about that," he tried for comfort, and even to his ears it came out hungry and strained.

"So you hunt demons," she asked him finally, "What brought you here to Flat River?"

"Sammy's stomach," he said dryly and she managed a weak chuckle. "You ready to tell us what you know before your boy comes running into the room again?"

Miranda nodded, that strength coming back into her eyes, damned if that didn't just bury itself right in his chest and take up residence. "Yeah. Let's see, I met Darnell in Atlantic City. I was on vacation with some friends, he was there with Earl and Andrew."

"The two assholes that just left?" he asked and she laughed again.

"Yeah, that's them. Anyway, I don't know, I fell hard for him. Just looking at Darnell, I really didn't understand why, but next thing I knew, we were getting married and headed back here to Flat River." She rolled her eyes and took the towel from his hands, pressing it back to her lip. "Stupid, I know. So damned stupid, but I didn't realize it until now that it was all Delilah's doing."

"Who's Delilah?"

"Pure evil," she said softly and not without fear. "She's evil, I don't even know if she's human but whatever the hell she is, she's evil."

"Have you ever seen her?"

"Only twice, the first time was when she came to Gabriel's christening. She wanted to hold him, but I knew just from looking at her that I didn't want her near my son. Made a big fuss too, right there in the church and refused to back down. Embarassed the hell out of Darnell and his parents. The guests all looked at me in shock but she wasn't touching my son, no matter how angelic she looked."

Sam leaned back against the counter, "What did she look like."

"Sex," her next laugh was filled with bitterness, "I know how that sounds, but that's what I think of when I see her. Long honey blonde hair, big doe blue eyes, big breasts, tiny waist, kinda like a Jessica Rabbit clone. Had on this innocent pink sundress and sandals and still managed to look like she was ready to climb in to bed with some man. But even with all that, I could just feel the evil."

Dean watched her lick her lips and turn those eyes on him, he really didn't need this right now. As if reminding himself of that was really helping? "I asked about her, not to Darnell or his parents, just some people around town. Everyone is terrified of her. If you even say her name, they clam up tight and you can just smell the fear. It's all around Flat River, choking this town to death."

"How long until you saw her again?"

"A few weeks ago. You would think considering how small Flat River is, I would have seen her before then. I think Darnell was making sure our paths didn't cross. Anyway, I was out at the gas station filling up my tank and I watched her pick up this guy, looked a lot like Darnell, same body type, different colored hair. Then there was the rumor about the noises out at the Motel, and the fact that boy just disappeared, despite the fact that John Henry had just married them."

"Married?" The word shot from Sam like a bullet and even he was confused. They had never heard of a demon participating in a religious ceremony.

"That's what you don't understand, what I didn't understand until it was too late to back out. John Henry isn't a real Preacher, at least he doesn't serve any God that I put my faith in. That church, isn't a church and Delilah isn't human. I know that because," she broke off, eyes filling with tears and spilling over onto her cheeks, "I know because no human being could have done to Darnell and left what was left upstairs in our bed."

"I'm sorry," Sam immediatley offered.

"I'm not crying over Darnell, our marriage has been over for a long time. It's just been impossible to get out of Flat River. Everyone obeys the Sullivans and with Gabriel, they all keep me under constant watch and there is no way in hell I'd leave my son, so I've been stuck here. Despite my anger with Darnell, he didn't deserve to die like that."

She ran a shaky hand through her hair, "Earl and Andrew cleaned up after Delilah killed Darnell because John Henry made them, but I haven't been back in there since then. Could barely stand to live in this house, but I knew if I pushed too hard that they would try to take Gabriel from me. I've been putting aside money for about a year now so we could get away and I had to play along so no one would suspect anything."

Dean took both her hands into his and squeezed, knowing this next question was going to be damned difficult for her to answer, "Can you tell us what you saw?" It was the only way to know for sure, though, he already had an idea of what they were dealing with.

"I came home with Gabriel from one of his friend's birthday party. It's was dark out, a little after nine because I stayed and helped Felicia clean up. The house was dark when I came in but Darnell's car was out front and that made me worry. So I sent Gabriel to his room and when I went into our bedroom," she broke off, closing her eyes and a violent tremor shook through her slender body. "There was blood everywhere," she started in a whisper, as if afraid of who might overhear, "And Darnell was on the bed, naked. Or whatever was left of Darnell."

"Dean," Sam started but he shook his head.

"See I knew, Anne's husband, Frank, he had died a few weeks before. Darnell claimed it was a stroke but Anne had been mumbling about him sleeping around and for the longest time after the funeral she had this cold empty look in her eyes. And I finally, understood what was going on. What John Henry was condoning right here in Flat River. I know you can't diganose a stroke but Frank was twenty five, healthy. After Darnell, every suspicous death began adding up."

"Look," Sam began again, "We should get back to the hotel, we're sitting ducks right here and I'm sure when Earl and Andrew went back empty handed it wasn't recieved well."

"He's right," Miranda agreed, releasing his hands, "I need to pack up and get out of this house right now."

When she went back to packing up food, Sam caught his eyes and murmured, "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded coldly. One thing for sure, there was no way in hell he was letting Miranda and Gabriel Sullivan out of his sight. "I think we've got ourselves and old fashioned succubus on our hands."

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

_**From the man's embrace they lead off the wife, from the man's knee they make the child get up, and the youth they fetch out of the house of his in-laws, they are the numbness, the daze, that tread on the heels of man." ** _

--Thorkild Jacobsen, The Treasures of Darkness: A History of Mesopotamian Religion, p.12

**Part III**

It took a lot of convincing on Dean's part to get Miranda to agree that going back to the motel with them was better than getting on the road. Only Sam knew that if she believed that she could have escaped Flat River with no problems nothing either of them said would have meant a damn. Keeping Gabriel safe was more important to her than saving the people who would have done nothing when her in-laws tried to steal her child away and possibly kill her in the process.

From the little he could tell about her, Sam liked. He knew that Dean was attracted to her and determined to do nothing about it. It was nice to see his brother flustered around a woman instead of his usual cocky confidence. Gabriel kept staring up at him as if he couldn't decide if this new male presence in his life was friend or foe. Sam figured Dean was feeling about the same.

The four of them were cramped into the motel room, Gabriel on Dean's bed lying on his stomach coloring and humming some unfamiliar song under his breath. Miranda was putting away the remainder of the food that hadn't been demolished by the four of them. While Dean stood in the window with the blinds closed keeping an eye on the street stretched out ahead of them.

Unless Sullivan came at them through the thick brush behind the hotel, they had a clear view of anything heading in their direction.

Finished, Miranda sat down across from him, sparing a quick look at her son. Probably to make sure he wasn't listening. That bruise on her face was turning colors, would be a nasty shade of purple by tomorrow this time and her nose looked like if it wasn't broken it was damned close. Before leaving the house, he had watched her down five Ibruprofen dry and he had to wonder how many times she had done that and if it contributed to the end of her marriage.

"So," she finally spoke, voice soft enough so that it wouldn't draw Gabriel's attention, "I'm here, I'm listening. What the hell is a succubus and why do you think it's after me and my son?"

Sam closed the window on the laptop he was working in, glanced up at Dean who gestured for him to tell it. "It's a female demon, takes on the appearance of a human woman so that it can seduce men, have sex with them and steal their," he paused and looked at Gabriel who was still absorbed in his coloring his picture, "Steals their semen."

The choked expression on Miranda's face clearly said she hadn't been expecting that. "There's a lot of myth and legend about succubi," Dean started catchiing her attention, "Some thought they were the sexual equivalent of vampires, some thought they were goddesses. What it all boils down to is that they're demon sexual predators."

"Like rapists?"

"Yes and no," Sam shook his head, "The victim has to be willing, or else," he trailed off and Dean finished for him in his own colorful fashion.

"No juice, so to speak." At the flush of heat across Miranda's face, he glanced back out the window and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

There was a long moment of silence until Sam cleared his throat, "There are two kinds of these demons, succubi and incubi, female and male. Some can actually be the same, able to change form at will to prey on humans."

"But what's the point," Miranda shook her head, "There has to be some point to it."

"No there doesn't," Dean answered quickly, "Evil doesn't have to have a plan all the time."

"So, you think Delilah is a succubus?"

"It fits," Sam nodded, "The men and the murders, the fear everyone in this town seems to carry around."

"Succbi are vicious little demons, damned near impossible to kill. After they get what they came for, they rip their victims apart." Dean explained.

"That's what was done to Darnell," Miranda shuddered with revulsion.

"My best guess," Sam took a deep breath, "This Delilah woman and John Henry Sullivan have some compact between them. Might include most of prominent families in town. Probably goes back several generations. Meanwhile, Sullivan let's her use Flat River as her personal little playground. He covers up the murders, keeps the good town folk in line, makes sure no attention is drawn."

"Fucking small towns," he heard Dean mutter under his breath.

"If she's one that can switch hit, I'm guessing that," Sam stopped and realized this might be something she didn't want to know.

"What?"

"It's nothing," he shrugged it off and went back to his laptop. He saw Dean look at him and frown and knew his brother had figured out what he was thinking.

"It is something, so tell me!"

"Let it go Miranda," Dean warned softly, resigned, because even as he said the words they both knew that she wouldn't and she jumped up from her chair and went to him.

"You wanted me to come here, to trust the two of you and now you think you're going to hold out on me? How is that right? Tell me why I shouldn't just grab my son and get on the road right now, since you're not willing to tell me everything?"

"Because she would find you," Sam said.

"Sammy no."

"She has a right to know," he said in a grudging voice. "I was walking through town today, couldn't help notice the lack of children."

Confusion cleared some of the anger away, "I guess," she muttered quickly, "What does that have to do," she trailed off and looked over at Gabriel. The tormented that entered her eyes completely cracked the deceptive composure she had maintained. "No."

"When I had the vision, I saw the demon kill you, and take Gabriel. It doesn't want to hurt Gabriel, Miranda, it just wants you out of the way."

"Why? You say it out loud, I want to hear you tell me why?"

"If Delilah can take both female and male form, she can be creating Cambion. Children, half human, half demon. And the way the Sullivans reacted when you threatened to take Gabriel away-"

"No!" she panicked, stumbling backward but Dean caught her before she could fall over the chair behind her, "That's a lie! Gabriel is my son! Mine! I carried him. I gave birth to him!"

"Miranda, calm down," Dean said softly.

"Don't you tell me to calm down, when you're standing there calling my child," Dean silenced the words by clapping his hand over her mouth which brought the instant reaction of her struggling against him.

"Your son is right there," Dean leaned down close to her face and whispered, "Do you want him to see his mother upset?" He waited until she stopped, momentairly rebuffed, then she shook her head. He lifted a brow then slowly removed his hand from her face.

"You told me that you didn't quite understand why you married Darnell, I'm guessing Delilah had something to do with that. Demon's have all kinds of mojo at their disposal. Succubi are greedy little predators, but they aren't stupid. No men in town mean no sex and that is what a succubi exists for. Sex and death."

"I heard Eleanor Sullivan say that all her children were gone, and John Henry is old. Delilah would need someone to carry on the compact, keep her ready pool of available men." Sam spoke up, hating that beweildered expression on her face. Those dark eyes that had been so alive with passion seemed haunted now. "It would explain why no one would allow you to leave."

"It's impossible," she lowered her gaze in denial, but the truth was there in the way her shoulders slumped over.

"It wouldn't be impossible if she could change forms, for her to make her self look like Darnell, take the seed she stole from one of her male victims and impregnate you with it." Dean said starkly and Sam felt his stomach clench.

"What better way to ensure the next generational compact if not with her own Cambion?"

"And you think that my Gabriel," she whispered, and they all glanced over at the innocent boy laying on the bed humming and coloring. "That he's?"

"He's your son," Dean cut her off, his voice insistent, "Don't you ever think otherwise."

"But," her eyes had filled with tears, welled, then spilled in fat drops down her cheeks.

"Let me tell you something," Dean's voice was husky with emotion, and he checked the grip he had on Miranda's arms, rubbing his hands gently over her shoulders, "A few months ago, someone told me that my brother was going to do something bad, that he was going to side with the Demon that killed our mother and do some pretty evil shit. But that's ridiculous, and that's what I told them."

It felt a little weird to here his brother speak of him that way, because Sam knew how hard he had fought on that path before they destroyed the Demon. He knew how hard Dean fought to protect him. If he was sane and human and good, it was because Dean was there watching his back. Protecting him.

"Sammy isn't evil, doesn't have it in him. Our mother made sure of that, she was the kindest, purest soul that I've ever known. She died trying to protect Sammy and the Demon that killed her, knew that the only way he had a chance at Sam was to take her out first."

"But it isn't the same," she murmured.

"Not quite, but let me tell you what I see," Dean tilted his head toward Gabriel, "I see a little boy who is growing up with a great Mom. A mother that is willing to do whatever needs to be done to protect him. Just like our mother. A mother's love is a strong thing Miranda. Sacred. Damned near invincible. It's why Delilah tried to take him from you at the christening, it's why she's trying to take him now."

She seemed to be weighing his words, glanced over at her son, her face naked with the kind of love that could only be between mother and child. It glowed warm, and Sam could see that layer of steel that both he and his brother admired in her stiffen. Her face filled with a steadfast courage and determination that he felt honored to witness.

"So what do we do to stop it?"

"Well, that's the problem," Sam rubbed a frustrated hand over his forehead. "Succubi are damned hard to kill."

"But not impossible," Dean cut in.

"No, not impossible. It's only at it's most vulnerable in it's truest form."

"Big, tall and ugly as hell, but not impossible to kill." Dean snorted after that bit of sarcasm.

"And it only takes it's true form when it leaves this plane of reality and returns to it's own."

"Which means we have to catch it either before it kills it's next victim, or piss it off enough so that it wants to kill us."

"Either way, we need a plan and both of those suck."

"Need a damned cannon is what we need," Dean pointed out.

Miranda chuckled softly drawing both of their attention back to her. "I don't understand, why do the two of you do this? You know next to nothing about me and you're willing to risk your lives to help me. Why?"

"It's the right thing to do," Sam answered, familiar with this question.

"And the fact that I'm hoping for a date afterwards, is always a plus," his brother smirked making her blush again.

"Shut up, idiot."

xxxxxxxxxx

Miranda watched as Dean looked through the trunk of the black Impala, tried not to goggle at the array of weapons there. Failed miserably of course, because all of this was so far beyond her experience, she would have floundered miserably if she hadn't already known that something evil had this town in it's grip.

The sun was going down and part of her still wanted to gather up her son and run as fast as she could. If she didn't believe that her best chance was with these two men, she would have. It wasn't that she didn't believe, it was just the opposite, she knew some self defense stuff from back when she lived in Maine, but fighting on the scale these two were hinting at was incomprehensible.

Dean and Sam had given her a lot to think on, including the fact that just might have been raped by demon wearing her husband's face. It didn't change how she felt about her child. Gabriel was her life, from the moment she realized he grew under her heart. And no demon was going to steal her son away to groom to help continue its terror on Flat River.

"So how did you and Sam start doing this, hunting demons I mean?"

Dean straightened, a sawed-off shot gun in one hand clenched along with a nasty looking axe, and slammed the trunk closed, "Demon killed our mother. Sam was a baby, few months old. I was a toddler. Our father took us on the run. Searching for it, determined to kill it. He trained us, taught us what we needed to know to hunt. It's all I know." He shrugged as if he had just told her that he was as simple as taking up the family business. Only it involved killing things that most people didnt' believe in.

"Did you kill it, the Demon that killed your mother, I mean?"

He was silent for a long time, turned to stare into the horizon the sun a warm orange glow on his face. Dean raised his free hand and ran it along the thick scar healing around his neck, "Yeah," he said after a while, "It's dead."

"Where's your father? He still hunting like you and Sam?"

"No," he pursed his lips and swallowed, "Demon got him. Died saving my life."

She could tell that knowledge hurt him, and finally felt like she could offer him something after everything that he and his brother were doing for her and Gabriel. "That's what parents do," she placed a hand on his arm and he glanced down at her, those intense eyes made her heart wobble in her chest. "Your father loved you, just like I love Gabriel. I'd step in front of hell itself for my son. That's what parents do."

He nodded once, "Yeah." But she could tell that he still didn't like it. She lifted a hand and placed it against his cheek, felt a lurch of excitement at the steady gaze that bore down into hers. Dean looked at her as if he were photographing her, commiting her to memory but not exactly sure he wanted to.

That dating comment he made she hadn't taken seriously though she would have happily agreed. "We," she cleared her throat at the husky tremor that was her voice, "We should get back inside."

"See if Sam came up with something other than us pissing off a demon," he drawled but when he turned she felt him stiffen and grab her arm. "Son of a bitch."

"Not quite," she heard a feminine voice speak up just seconds before his grip was torn away and he went flying backwards crashing into the concrete of the empty parking lot.

"How?" Miranda began backing away, mind floundering as fear and anger knotted equally in her stomach. Out of no where stood the very thing she was determined to protect her son from. She looked exactly as she remembered. A model of femininity, sex and lust, in a white halter styled dress that looked sickeningly like a wedding gown.

"How did you?" A quick nervous glance at Dean, showed his unconscious form laying on the ground several feet away.

A smile curved her full lips, but even that didn't conceal that malveolence that teemed beneath the surface of that enchanting face. "We both know that if a woman needs a job done, it's best done herself. Leave it to a man and everything gets fucked over."

"You're not a woman, and no matter how many men you have sex with it won't change that fact." Miranda sneered and that must have pissed her off because a cold gleam filled those blue eyes, heating red with demonic contempt.

"I should have killed you a long time ago," that voice was layers of rage and hatred. "But I can fix that tonight," then Delilah smiled again and nodded toward Dean. "He's a good looking one, maybe I'll celebrate with him afterwards." Her laughter had a bitter scornful edge, "Oh, I saw the way you were looking at him. Standing there practically creaming your panties. Big strong man, gorgeous face and those hands."

A shiver seemed to rush through Delilah's body and Miranda shuddered in revulsion at the thought of this thing possibly touching her. Touching Dean. "I'm sure his blood runs hot," the demon's voice darkened, "It'll spill all over my skin as he screams. I'll fuck him hard and milk him dry. The final death, the perfect death."

"You disgusting bitch," its words brought bitter gall to her throat.

"He'll be even better than Darnell," Delilah flung out, "He was weak, useless. Less than useless. But him, oh he'll give me a ride. Must have Sullivan bring him into the compact, but I have the time. I'll even let you watch."

"How did you get him to help you?"

"The usual way. Greed." She sighed, rolling her eyes with mock sympathy, "Many, many years ago, a young Thomas Sullivan wanted money, power and a young girl named Merry who was engaged to his best friend Peter. It's amazing the things humans will do to each other." She lifted a hand, "We struck a bargain, I get rid of Peter, give him all the wealth and power he wanted and he helped me. Here we are almost a hundred years later with John Henry following in Thomas' footsteps."

Hands, strong and vicious grabbed her arms and jerked her so close she could feel Delilah's warm breath fan her face. "And there's my boy now. My Gabriel." Miranda turned in horror to see Earl, Andrew, Cody Walker whose family owned the Shop and Save, Lenny Townsend who owned the Roadhouse and John Henry coming down the motel stairs. Earl and Andrew carried an limp and seeming unconscious Sam along while John Henry had Gabriel by the hand.

"You stay the hell away from my son!"

"My son," Delilah smiled brightly, "You were just the egg and the womb. That's my Cambion."

"My son!" she screamed, looking around desperately and knowing that no one was going to come to their aid. "John Henry don't do this," she pleaded as they grew closer, the blank dazed expression in Gabriel's eyes choked her with despair. She gulped hard, hot blinding tears slipping down her cheeks, as she struggled against the hands restraining her. "He's just a little boy, don't do this."

"Bring the other," Delilah demanded and Miranda watched Lenny and Cody cross to Dean and lift him by the arms. Her mouth twitched with amusement and she released a sharp bark of laughter. "I always did enjoy a good shotgun wedding."

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

_"If there's anyone here who objects to these two people being joined together, let him speak now or forever hold his peace?"_

Sam Winchester adjusted the dark blue tie that felt like it was gradually choking the life from his body and tried not to throw both his hands in the air and object to the top of his lungs. Sweat trailed down the back of his white shirt, soaking through and sticking to his skin. The stifling air in the little church was scent with things he would prefer not to know the answer to. Unfortunately, in his life, preferring not to recognize something, didn't necessarily preclude lack of knowledge.

Blood. Death.

It was just a regular Winchester hunt.

How had things grew to such disastrous proportions in a matter of hours?

He looked over at his brother who kneeled at the alter with the blond bombshell and knew he couldn't do a damned thing at the moment to stop this from happening. Dean was barely conscious, his face torn and bloody, hands tied behind his back. They both had been forced to dress for this macrabre ceremony. Miranda lay on the floor unconscious next to him still in her jeans and henley and Gabriel stood pale and silent next to John Henry Sullivan face blank with terror.

Gabriel hadn't said a word since that one scream back in the motel room when he had been forced to watch the four goons beat him unconscious. Simply moved when bidded and was as pale as a ghost.

They had underestimated this small town of horrors. A mistake he vowed he would never make again. If they managed to live through this.

"Do you Dean Winchester take Delilah as your wife?"

The demon grabbed a hand full of his hair and pulled until they faced each other. "Answer the nice man Dean, Delilah Winchester has a nice sound to it don't you think?" She smiled sweetly and nausea began to swim in Sam's stomach. He had been forced to watch Dean take a beating, two hours they worked him over, all the while Dean had glared at him with those hard eyes stilling his hand. If they were going to take down this demon, they had to play all of their cards close to the chest.

The next snort of laughter Sam had expected. "Not today, not tomorrow and you can kiss my ass."

Something horrible flashed red in her usually blue eyes as the edges of that smile turned cruel. A fist caught Dean in the face, sending him flying away from the alter, crashing into pews behind him. Delilah stood in her white gown and practically floated over to Dean, as if she were all innocence and light. Showing a strength that belied her stature, she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked Dean into the air, feet dangling several inches off the ground.

"It isn't nice to use profanity in front of children."

Dean's head rolled back dangerously, then he managed to open his eyes to sneer down at her, "Bitch, you are a profanity and I'm so going to enjoy kicking your ass."

She looked like she wanted to hit him again, but halted at the last second and dragged him back to the alter, dumping him unceremoniously onto his knees. "Finish it," she growled, a layer of menace echoing through her voice, revealing a bit of the evil that lay beneath the attractive surface.

"By the power invested in me-"

"Sammy."

"I now pronouce you-"

"Now would be a good time man!"

"Man and," before John Henry could finish the sentence, Sam had already sent forth a wave of psychic energy tossing the man back into the wall behind him. Sam tried not to gringe at the snap of bone as the man's limp body slid to the floor.

A howl of fury echoed through the empty church, stained glass windows shattered, wind built around them like painful lashes of thousands of whips. Sam watched Gabriel's eyes roll back into his head and Dean moved. Having finally managed to cut through the rope that tied his wrists together, he clutched the little boy to his chest to shield him with his body. Despite the force of the wind, they managed to roll away from the alter.

Earl and Andrew gawked in shock, the guns in their hands forgotten. Andrew, who stood over Miranda came to his senses first and tried to run away. Only to be caught in the sweep of wind and sent flying through the air to crash into a wall.

Earl looked on as his brother's crumpled body hit the floor. His mouth moved, but no sound came forth, and he took a step toward Andrew only to go sailing back through the wooden pews the heavy wood snapping like tinder under the momentum of his body. The noise must have reached Miranda because she finally stirred, lifted her head from the floor, dark hair blowing around her face.

"YOU!"

Sam took a deep breath, watching in amazement as the demon killed the very people she used to do her bidding. The long blonde hair that once shone like the sun was now an ashen white, flapping around in the breeze. Delilah turned to face him, her beauty now tarnished by wizened flesh that seem to melt from her bones, deep sunken eyes and a mouth open to reveal a set of canines that looked like she could snap a man's neck in two. Knarled hands curled long claws in fury as her eyes glowed red with malevolence.

Compared to the Demon they fought and destroyed this one was still child's play.

"I'm going to rip off your head and piss in your skull," she growled nastily advancing on him.

"Sounds really fascinating." he nodded blandly only infuriating her more. If this was going to work, she needed to drop the illusions and show her true self. He only hoped they weren't killed before she did it.

"You dare to speak to me that way," her voice built in volume, combining with the winds whirling through the church, booming like a cannon. "I who am Nahemah, keeper of the Door between this realm and An, of-"

"Blah, blah," the ridicule came over the din from Dean who stood to the left. Gabriel was shielded behind him and his brother was blocking his face against flying debris. "You just don't know when to shut up do you? Don't you hate it when they never shut up?"

"Gabriel!" Miranda screamed finally getting to her knees. "You get the hell away from my son!"

The high piercing shriek had them all covering their ears in agony, as the demon tilted back her head and wailed loud enough to shake the very foundation of the building. "My Cambion, pathetic human!"

"Is that why you have to have sex and kill men? Is that why you needed _MY WOMB! MY EGG!_" Miranda struggled to her feet, fists clenched at her sides. Small, frail looking, barely withstanding the force of the wind. A trail of blood ran down the side of her face from where Earl had knocked her unconscious, the bruises on her face stood out but she looked every inch a warrior. "My son, bitch! _MINE!_ You pathetic demon!"

Something happened then, the very air thickened, and Sam had barely a moment to feel the shimmer of evil shift before Dean yelled, "Get ready Sam!"

Delilah's form seemed to fall away, a whisper of change, like thick choking smoke and in the once human looking wake rose something monstrous.

"Oh, shit."

Dean watched the demon finally retake it's true form, he expected big, ugly and that's exactly was began to straighten before them. It seemed those vampire rumors weren't without some relevance because what stood on bent hind legs and began expanding huge curling wings bent with talons at the edge looked like some hideous verson of a bat.

Those fangs from before now looked capable of cleaving a man in half easily.

He watched Sam jerk in shock, his mouth gaping wide as the demon stomped one foot splitting the floor in half as if a quake had ripped through the earth. "Sammy wake up man!"

But from behind him, a low groaning noise began. Dean lifted Gabriel into his arms, clutching him tight against his chest as it felt like the church was about to tear itself apart. The demon had even stopped that hideous cawing sound to turn in the direction of the sounds. The ceiling of the church looked like it had come to life. Beams and wood creaked as it began to swell almost like a human chest drawing in a huge breaths. In and out it pulsed, and Dean staggered backward, placing a protective hand on the boy's head.

The groan turned into a snarl and in one swift motion the roof was gone, disintergrating into the night as if someone had set off a bomb. What was left was a blur of whirlwinds, and when the demon screamed again, Dean heard fear in it's roar.

It tried to take a step back, escape it's obvious intent, only something seemed to take the demon in it's grasp in begin dragging it toward the now gaping hole in the roof. It's talons dragged rough grooves into the floor, wings flapping uselessly as it struggled to no avail.

As it passed him, he heard Miranda scream a second before Gabriel was ripped from his arms and he was sent flying back through the air. Dean hit the floor rolling quickly back to his feet, running, boots digging, arms pumping, only to watch helplessly as the demon and the silent boy disappeared through some invisible doorway.

The abrupt silence of the church seemed awkward, as disbelief gripped his chest and squeezed so hard he could barely stand. "Sam?" he finally managed, hot tears of misery filling his eyes then his heart crumbled in his chest.

_"Gabriel!"_

That broken wail echoed through the quiet. Miranda rushed forward and he was forced to reach out and grab her, pull her into his body. She fought him, scratched and clawed, kicked and screamed, her dark eyes wild and hysterical as she demanded he let her go.

"No." his voice trembled with pain and turned her into him. Her arms flailed, slapping him in the face, the chest.

"Let me go, let me go, I have to get him."

"He's gone," his eyes fluttered shut on a wave of pain.

"No that's a lie! That's a lie! He's not, he's not gone!"

"I'm sorry," he groaned, "I'm sorry. He's gone." A violent shudder went through her body even as she continued to fight him, dragged him to the floor until they kneeled together, her fury bursting into raw tears of grief. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He rocked her back and forth, feeling her hands clench at his back.

_"DEAN!" _

Sam's shout, jerked them out of that anguish, as they both watched a soft white glow begin to surround Sam. Miranda gasped, blinking past the tears as Sam began to hover off the floor.

"Okay, let me get this straight, that was one of your visions?"

Sam looked at Dean and Miranda who looked like two war torn survivors. One moment it felt like the world was falling apart, swept up in an agonizing maelstrom of loss. Gabriel's loss. Then he had been hit with something and he still couldn't quite figure out what it was.

"I don't know," he replied, confusion thick in his voice.

"You don't know," Dean was pacing the empty church, his face wild with rage and guilt. He knew Dean was holding himself responsible for losing Gabriel. "What do you know then Sammy? And since when did you start glowing and floating when you get a vision?"

Miranda moaned low in her throat, her arms wrapped around herself in self comfort.

"Just listen, okay," Sam, held out his hands in entreaty, "I saw, I saw Gabriel."

"What!"

But it wasn't Dean's shout that he turned to, but the bereft and desolate eyes of his mother. "We can get him back."

"How?" her whisper was so painful that he was almost afraid to speak in case he was wrong and they disappointed her again.

"Whatever pulled that demon out of here," he shook his head, trying to sift through the images that had flashed through his head so quickly. "It's going to come back. Remember what Delilah said keeper of the door between this realm and An."

"So you're saying that was a door."

"And where a door was closed," Sam nodded quickly.

"It can open again." Dean paused, "When, when is it happening?" He could already see the vengence in his his brother's eyes.

"Soon, but not here and whatever is coming out isn't going to be friendly. But I saw Gabriel," he paused because he wasn't quite certain. The boy had certainly felt like Gabriel but he hadn't looked like Gabriel. "He was with another boy and they're coming through together."

"When?" Miranda asked, this time her voice a little stronger.

"Felt like a week and it's up east, I know that much."

"Then we need to get on the road now." Now that Dean had a goal to fight for he was ready to move.

"I'm coming," Miranda stood, shaky on her feet and Dean automatically grabbed her arms. She went into his embrace, looked into his eyes. Something passed between them and Sam figured they would need it when the time came. "I'm coming with you and you're going to teach me how to fight these things so I'm not just standing there helpless again."

Dean nodded once in agreement. "Let's get going Sam."

Sam watched them walk toward the door and the sourness in the pit of his stomach which burned of their failure was soothed a bit by the way Dean and Miranda held each other. The strength in both of them. There was still much he had to tell them about the visions. The voices in his head, the people he had seen and the wicked sensation that something horrible was going to step through that door along with Gabriel.

Until then, it was going to be a long hard ride to Port Charles, New York.

_...to be continued._


End file.
